to him new
pages in a familiar book. Yeovil found himself discoursing eagerly with
his chance guest on the European distribution and local variation of such
and such a species, recounting peculiarities in its habits and incidents
of its pursuit and capture. If the cold observant eyes of Lady Shalem
could have rested on the scene she would have hailed it as another root-
fibre thrown out by the fait accompli.

Yeovil closed the hall door on his departing visitor, and closed his mind
on the crowd of angry and accusing thoughts that were waiting to intrude
themselves. His valet had already got his bath in readiness and in a few
minutes the tired huntsman was forgetting weariness and the consciousness
of outside things in the languorous abandonment that steam and hot water
induce. Brain and limbs seemed to lay themselves down in a contented
waking sleep, the world that was beyond the bathroom walls dropped away
into a far unreal distance; only somewhere through the steam clouds
pierced a hazy consciousness that a dinner, well chosen, was being well
cooked, and would presently be well served--and right well appreciated.
That was the lure to drag the bather away from the Nirvana land of warmth
and steam. The stimulating after-effect of the bath took its due effect,
and Yeovil felt that he was now much less tired and enormously hungry. A
cheery fire burned in his dressing-room and a lively black kitten helped
him to dress, and incidentally helped him to require a new tassel to the
cord of his dressing-gown. As he finished his toilet and the kitten
finished its sixth and most notable attack on the tassel a ring was heard
at the front door, and a moment later a loud, hearty, and unmistakably
hungry voice resounded in the hall. It belonged to the local doctor, who
had also taken part in the day's run and had been bidden to enliven the
evening meal with the entertainment of his inexhaustible store of
sporting and social reminiscences. He knew the countryside and the
countryfolk inside out, and he was a living unwritten chronicle of the
East Wessex hunt. His conversation seemed exactly the right
accompaniment to the meal; his stories brought glimpses of wet hedgerows,
stiff ploughlands, leafy spinneys and muddy brooks in among the rich old
Worcester and Georgian silver of the dinner service, the glow and crackle
of the wood fire, the pleasant succession of well-cooked dishes and
mellow wines. The world narrowed itself dow